POETRY
Dan Hanrahan's poetry and translations have appeared in Words Without Borders, Brilliant Corners, Shepherd Express, Babbelsprecht (Germany), among many others.
Below, is a sample of Dan's work.
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LEAP YEAR
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DAN HANRAHAN
Leap Year is a 2018 chapbook collection of haiku and drawings on American jazz and blues artists.
Published by
415 Records & Books /
$5
HENRY THREADGILL
the ghost of buddy bolden
fire in his eyes
floats over the rooftops
of bronzeville june nights
swing a gate open
and follow a line
from the bayou
to chicago's stockyard miles
the second line drop step
of buddy bolden's gone storyville blues
blows a highwire signal
into chase scenes around the el lines
henry threadgill passes easily
into otherworldly states
his songs bloom and push forward
into the fragrant skies
like bumble bees in flight
very very curious
the dreams that grow
as diamonds in washington park
fish ponds
the future is already written
in sky lightning
for those ready to discern
pure sound and power
in breath, each note
must teeter on the tightrope
for the flute to entice forward,
the cello to draw downward to earth
magnetic poles battle
in the balance
heard it all
i heard it all
in the one-bedroom
overlooking the lilac tree
in bloom, the drug deals
on the corner and out
the tiny black speakers
too much sugar for a dime ---
was it poured into porcelain cups
in late-night edward hopper contemplation
or drunk with the dogon—
people of the dog star
who navigate all that celestial space
from red clay earth of malian midnights
eons of heat
burnt into score sheets
each note a dare to eternity
to throw down its gold key
cuz you'll hitch your circus wagon
to her and rise over
the limestone walls
of the hudson ---
east above the atlantic ---
to find a flute glimpsed years ago
in dreamtime
of chicago twilight
the alto sax line
and two tubas cannonball crush
twin guitars
sprung like jet turbines
backbeat breaks down to reveal
the cabinet of many doors:
start with jelly roll reborn
to an orchestra of windmills
whinin’ boy blues of winged antelope
hovers over the land
where the buffalo roam
the sides of nickels found
by junkstore troubadors
iconoclast? eyes the tall grass
for signs of the forbidden theatre
rolling into town
try dancing to this number
we’ll choreograph the eight petals
of lotus light that only appear
on bud billigan parade day
in lily pad revival
it’s showtime on the south side
too soon to know
if this seed will rise
into oak or baobab
let the bass be plural
and play tag with the crash cymbals
the circus wagons are on fire
so much rising up
release elements
to regain old kingdoms
of thrill magic
of the still active
kingdom of birds
risen to harmonize and ignite
what was lost on rolled scrolls
call them down now
with flute and arched bow
between major and minor
we beam in dreamtime
This poem first appeared Brilliant Corners: A Journal of Jazz and Literature
THE PAINTER
It was a weary blue
sundown in December
and the golf courses
of Milwaukee
were being drained
of a peculiar light
that reminded the painter
of a dusty penny candy
he ate as a child
one summer in Menoqua.
Weird ping of heels on the pier,
his stomach fluttering
like the fan tail
of the small sunfish
swimming beneath him.
THE GREY GHOST
He sits on a broken brown suitcase
or the top of a television,
feet dangling down.
He spins on the paper inner circle
of an old Stravinsky record.
The bassoon bellows loudly,
and he's off, floating wearily up,
like a week-old balloon,
to the high still corners of the room.
Waiting.
It is safe to come down now.
Over to an oak table.
The dark, cool wood beneath him,
he lays down to rest.
The smell of lamb and boiled cabbage
wafting up the stairs reminds him
of the Roosevelt administration
and seeing his first airplane
blink across the night sky.
He is filled with a brief strength
and moves a chair across the room.
They will notice this.
Then tired again and sitting on the floor,
hunched over with short breaths.
When night ends
he leaves the room
and through the hall window
watches the sun rise
like a bleeding plum
oozing across the landscape.
Creating
more
days.
SUN RA
an ark you were, are
and always will be
tributaries of magnificence
all flow to the same sea
sonic cacophony
turns into beauty
multiplicities
of the ever-changing we
see the ark rock,
roll and navigate
levitate into galaxies
of sophisticates
john gilmore tenor lines
leave labyrinthine contrails
in the skies of your mind
ra piano figures
fly and rewind
the tapes of centuries
recorded blind
revise the future
spontaneous, combine
the benign and the unkind
reinvent the sublime
subvert sisyphus on the incline
spin gold from spools of twine
ra left his fingerprints
on clouds
dreamt out loud
released the earthbound
through the sound
of the Arkestra touching down,
the sound of the earth
spinning round
tilted kalimbas
on saturn's sacred ground
brought watts towers of music
to every town
bassism, space systems
trace the roots of your
trans-generational
bluesisms
true bliss
through blue prisms
we can hear the strut
of zoot suits
majestic carnivals
in ra's vision